Homewrecker
by zimbardooo
Summary: "I have a girlfriend, Santana!" he protests. "Never stopped you before, did it?" Five times Santana destroys Wes' relationships, and one time he saves her the trouble.


It has been three weeks, two days and eleven hours since Wes had encountered the stranger in his garden in the wake of the Sectionals victory party. Not that he's been counting, of course..

It's ridiculous, he knows. They had only met that one time, and she had been so drunk that he isn't even sure she'll remember any of it, but there's something about her that simply refuses to be forgotten. Something about the way she had looked, the way she had laughed, she way she had held him and promised he would see her again.

It doesn't help that his Dalton blazer and tie are still conspicuously missing from his wardrobe, taunting him with their absence every time he tries to dress for school.

David had put up with him moping around their dorm room for two whole weeks before his patience had finally been exhausted. Wes maintains that he had brought it all upon himself, since he had been the one who had wanted to know everything in the first place.

"_Are you thinking about a girrrrrl?" David asks, dragging out his last word as if this is some sort of shocking new development (it kind of is)._

"_Am I _what_?"_

"_Oh, you totally are!" David props his chin up on one handed, grinning at Wes from his bed. "Is she cute?"_

"_David, you saw her," Wes rolls his eyes._

"_So you _were _thinking about a girl!"_

_Wes sighs._

_David clasps his hands together, grinning sappily. "Tell me aaaaalll about her."_

It hadn't taken long for him to coax Wes into telling him everything he knew (not much) about the girl in red- or as David immediately dubbed her, his _scarlet woman_. After that, it was like the floodgates had been opened; Wes hadn't realised how much he had needed to talk about everything until he got started, and once he had started it was kind of hard to stop.

David's interest had waned after a few days, but he had continued to humour Wes and his infatuated ramblings. However, even he had his limits and he had finally issued Wes with an ultimatum: either man up and ask her out(_made considerably harder by the fact that he still didn't know who she was_) or stop moping over her.

He had tried, he really had, but he didn't exactly have much to go on. He'd even turned to facebook in his desperation, but without her name the search was proving unsuccessful. There were apparently no Quinns in the state of Ohio, let alone from Westerville; searching 'Puck' turned up what seemed to be a college hockey team (could they be connected?), the Britneys appeared to be mainly fans of the pop princess, and there were so many Jakes that he didn't even know where to start.

She had promised that he would see her again, and that was what he was counting on, but his hopes were fading with every passing day.

* * *

Admitting defeat is hard for Wes, but luckily David is a gracious victor. He takes Wes' failure in his stride, insisting that it's something they can work with and even going as far as to set Wes up with his own sister. While he would normally protest the idea of being set up by anyone, let alone a freshman, at that moment he had been too preoccupied with his thoughts to even realize what was happening.

And that's how Wes finds himself sitting on a park bench with Georgia Sullivan on this chilly December afternoon, clutching their cups of hot chocolate with gloved hands and staring out over the frosty grass where children are slipping around in the slush.

There's a striking resemblance between the two siblings, although Georgia's features are softer, her hair much longer, swept back from her face in a mass of braids. She and David share the same easy-going nature as well, and Wes has certainly not been lost for conversation today. They've talked about everything from the portrayal of women and people of colour in the movie they just watched to hypothetical zombie apocalypse strategies, and she is only too willing to share embarrassing stories about David's childhood for later revenge.

It's a very welcome distraction; it's the most relaxed he's been in weeks, and yet he can't seem to stop his mind from wandering. Even now, as they finish their drinks and leave the bench, even as Georgia speaks up again, sharing another of her hilarious anecdotes, he can feel his concentration slipping. She's gesturing animatedly, her braids swinging as she recounts the story of the time David was abducted by a particularly territorial goose, but his mind keeps returning to another girl in another garden with eyes that shone and hands that danced as she spoke.

"Wes?" Georgia's voice cuts through his thoughts and he realizes with a jolt that he has been daydreaming again.

"Sorry," he apologises sheepishly. "Spaced out. What did you say?"

Luckily, she only smiles bemusedly back at him. "I've got five minutes 'til my bus comes. How are you getting home?"

"I'm-" he begins, but a loud voice from behind cuts him off.

"Back off, Medusa, I'm taking him home tonight."

Spinning around, he just manages to catch a glimpse of a dark-haired girl striding determinedly towards him, and it happens so fast that he sees little more than a rapidly approaching blur of crimson before she catches him by the lapels of his coat, tugging him forward and crashing their lips together.

Caught by surprise, he responds instinctively before his brain catches up and he reels backwards, hand flying to his mouth in shock.

Only then does he realise that his mystery assailant is none other than _his scarlet woman._

"I- you-" he stammers.

"So, your place or mine?"

"Smooth, Wes," Georgia tells him, her eyes glittering in amusement.

The girl's head swivels around and her eyes narrow as if she's seeing Georgia for the first time. "I'm sorry," she says, not sounding remotely sorry. "I don't think we've been introduced."

She looks pointedly at Wes, whose brain is still trying to catch up with what is happening.

"Oh, right," he says hastily. "Georgia, this is, uh-"

"Santana," she finishes for him, running her manicured nails up his arm in a way that makes him shiver.

"Santana," he repeats automatically.

"Mm," she hums, her lips twisting into a smirk again. Wes swallows heavily. "Needs a bit more passion, but we'll work on that."

She turns to fix Georgia with a dismissive stare. "And you are..?"

"Georgia Sullivan," she answers, looking more amused than offended. "We're just friends."

The girl- _Santana- _stares at Georgia for another second, and then her smirk widens. "Of course you are."

There is a long, awkward moment of silence as the three of them stare around at each other, before Georgia breaks eye contact to look down at her phone.

"Well, I'd better get going."

Santana mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like '_about time_', but the other girl doesn't seem to hear her.

"It was nice to meet you, Wes," she smiles. "Maybe we can hang out again sometime. Without my brother interfering."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Santana interrupts before Wes can reply. "He's going to be very busy for a while. So, if you'll excuse us-"

Before Georgia has the chance to react, her nails are digging into his upper arm and she is dragging him away. He catches a momentary glimpse of her laughing openly as she waves him off before his head snaps around and he stumbles after Santana.

"You- you can't just do things like that!" he protests as she drags him off down the path through the park.

She snorts. "Really now? Cause it seems a lot like I just did."

Wes has nothing to say to that. Santana's still striding ahead of him, the heels of her boots clicking against the pavement as he tries to keep up with her. His eyes drift from her hand, where the scarlet-painted nails are still digging into his bicep even through his coat, following the line of her arm up to where her hair, raven-black and pin-straight, cascades down over her back. She's wearing a cropped red jacket- the blur of crimson he had noticed earlier- over black jeans so tight they leave little to the imagination.

_It's just as well_, Wes thinks. His imagination is rather preoccupied with what he's in for now..

"It's- it's good to see you again," he says at last.

She flashes him a smirk over her shoulder without once breaking her stride. "Of course it is."

She pushes past a group of women fussing over a pram, and they look up and smile knowingly at Wes as he trails after her, flashing them an apologetic look.

"Santana?" he asks after a moment. "Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you home, remember?" she repeats, sounding a little impatient now.

"Yes, but- whose home?" he asks hesitantly.

She pauses for a moment, turning to look him in the eyes and she's smirking as if she's pleased that he remembers.

"Yours, I think," she decides after a second.

"But I live in Westerville," he reminds her.

"I know," she says, turning away and starting to walk off again.

"It'll take all day to walk there!"

"I know," she answers. "I said I'd take you home, didn't I? I have a car."

"But I drove here too," he protests. "I can't just abandon my car on the side of the road in a different town-"

"I know," she repeats. "So we won't."

"What are you-?"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence because she's fishing around in her pockets, looking for something. A moment later his jaw drops as she pulls out a set of keys- _his keys_- and dangles them triumphantly before his eyes.

"What- _how_-?"

"Lifted them from your pocket. You don't live in Lima Heights without picking up a few tricks," she shrugs, already striding off again.

Wes knows he should be appalled, but as she clambers into the driver's seat of his car, flashing him a smirk as she starts the engine, he can't quite find it in himself to mind.

"So, are you coming or what?"

* * *

_It's too hot for a proper author's note, so merry Christmas/happy holidays and thanks for reading (:_

_Next up: __In hindsight, Wes should probably have suspected something when his class schedule went missing._


End file.
